Room Mates
by IndigoMoose
Summary: Jonathan's first semester in college. Just as he was getting used to Sock, now he is faced with a horrible room mate: Donovan Stephano. Meanwhile, Sock is trying to deal with a mate of a different sort: his soul mate, Amelia Kate. A 5K writing challenge for W2H Big Bang. big thanks to @kaycnite and @kingstrawberrymilk for being artists for this work.


**ROOM MATES**

The campus library was a great place to find a reference book when your professor wouldn't accept Wikipedia as a resource. It was a great place to use a printer. It was a great place to go when your roommate made your dorm inhospitable. Jonathan used the campus library on a near daily basis. Sock had just found the perfect book: small enough to sneak into Jonathan's backpack with a security barcode strong enough to set off the alarms. He was gliding back to the study tables when he saw Amelia Kate. She was perched atop a bookshelf waiting to be noticed.

"Kate!" Sock greeted her happily. "You're back from your after-bucket tour so soon."

The ghost shrugged. "It wasn't as amazing as I had hoped. I mean, deep-sea diving… climbing Mount Everest… I didn't really feel like I was there, you know? Like I was viewing it all through some sort of screen. Perhaps it would have been different if my soul mate had joined me." At the word 'soul mate,' she made an obvious gesture towards Sock.

Sock gave a nervous laugh, "Soul mate? I don't think that's the right term for -"

Kate interrupted, "Have you forgotten?" She grabbed his wrist. He could feel the pressure from her fingertips. The entire room seemed brighter, clearer, and more colorful. The library didn't smell as musty as he thought it might. The whispering voices, clacking keyboards, and even the gentle scratch of pencils on paper became clear.

"We literally make each other feel alive," Kate said.

"I remember," Sock said. How could he forget? Forever in his memory was that day on the hill, the spontaneous stab, the glorious blood, the awkward kiss. "But," he added, pulling from Kate's grasp, "I don't think that's what it means to be soul mates."

Kate frowned. This was not the welcome she had hoped for. Rather than dwelling on it, she changed the subject and asked about Jonathan.

Sock grinned proudly. "He has a horrible roommate. He feels stressed and isolated. And he's gained weight. Suicide is just around the corner, I'm sure."

Kate tilted her head, but decided not to voice her doubts. "He's leaving," she said, jutting her chin towards Jonathan. The college freshman was packing up his bag and started his sluggish slouchy walk towards the exit. Sock swooped to Jonathan's shoulder and phased the library book into his backpack. As Jonathan stepped through the sensors, the alarm went off. He sighed and glanced up at Sock.

Sock said to Kate, "I'll show you the dorm. Jonathan's gonna be held up here for a while."

"Before we go in," Sock said, "I must warn you, Donovan's a smoker."

"I thought the dorms were smoke free," Kate said.

"Oh, they are… but the second floor smoke alarm has been busted for months and the RA doesn't care to fix it. And now that the weather is cold, Donovan doesn't even bother to crack the window."

"Ugh! I know Jonathan isn't one for confrontation, but… he must have said something."

Sock grinned wider. "He did! That's why Donovan started burning incense to cover up the smell. C'mon! Just phase through the door, you gotta see it to believe it."

Kate shrugged and phased through the door. The air was thick with particulates. When Sock plunked his hand on her shoulder, she started coughing. She pulled away; she didn't need this tour in high-definition.

Jonathan's Combs's side of the room was bland, but not for lack of effort. In various places along the wall, Kate could see bits of tacky gum and tape, evidence of attempts to personalize with posters and pictures. Clearly, Sock had made this futile. The desk and wardrobe provided by the school looked slightly dinged-up from years of use. Draped around the handles of the wardrobe was a bracelet made of agate, a gift from Magill Nancey. Perched on the hutch of the desk was a small statue of Shoki the demon queller, another gift from Jonathan's highschool girlfriend. The only other things were a bed with a rumpled top-sheet and Donovan's mini-fridge that he happily "shared."

Donovan Stephano's side of the room was another story. A pretentious poster of Pink Floyd prominently displayed over his lofted bed. The barely used desk was tucked under the bed, serving as a dumping ground for unread syllabi and unwashed laundry. The wardrobe was abutted to the foot of the bed and served as a TV-stand. The head of the bed was about two feet from the wall. In the gap between the wall and the bed was where Don stored all his partially full bags of chips. It was mid-November and already the stash of colorful, crinkley bags had piled up to roughly waist height.

The wandering spirit stretched and smiled. "Time for Amelia Kate to ameliorate," she said.

She opened the window and quickly sent the smokey air away. Then she went about smoothing Jonathan's bedspread and fluffing the pillow. Sock couldn't smell anything unless he was in contact with Kate, but he had a feeling the room was filling with the scent of clean laundry.

Kate dropped the pillow and froze when she heard the door open. Don sauntered into the room with a half-eaten party-size bag of potato chips in his hand and a full pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. He went straight to the window.

"Silly Jon," he muttered as he closed the window. "If you're warm, take off the stupid hoodie."

Don opened the mini-fridge and pulled out a soda. With the chip bag between his teeth, he scrambled up the ladder to his bed. He kicked off his shoes and let them fall and bounce to the center of the dorm floor. Just as Don was about to open his soda, Kate touched her ghostly finger to the can and gave Sock a wink.

"My smokes!" Donovan cried as the soda spewed out of the can and soaked his shirt pocket and its contents. The soda also managed to spill all over his incense sticks.

"He's not going to clean that up, you know," Sock said.

"You don't think I can convince him to do a load of laundry? I give people good ideas all the time," Kate responded.

"You make things better, not fix them entirely. We're spirits, not fairies," Sock reminded her.

Don took off his shirt and tossed it off the bed. Kate caused it to land on the puddle of soda. Before long, Jonathan returned from the library. He noticed the change right away. "Is Kate back?" he asked.

"Who?" Don responded.

"Maybe," Sock answered.

"I am!" shouted Kate, and punched Sock's arm.

Jonathan saw Sock wince. "Nice to have you around," he said to the empty space on Sock's left.

"Awww, thanks, dude," said Don.

Jonathan tried to read as his roommate, Don, noisily munched on some chips. Kate and Sock played dots and squares on a mini whiteboard. Kate had been unsure of how Don would react to floating pens, but Sock had convinced her that Don was never completely sober and probably wouldn't notice. It wasn't difficult to persuade her; Kate delighted in any opportunity to remind Jonathan of her existence.

"You ever sleep with someone, man?" Don asked from his lofted bed.

When Jonathan didn't answer right away, Sock said, "I'd like to know the answer to that."

Jonathan pretended not to hear either of them and continued to read his textbook.

"Dude, I know you can hear me. No headphones, so just answer."

Jonathan sighed, "What do you care?"

"I don't care, man… I'm just making conversation."

"My virginity status is not a conversation topic," Jonathan replied.

Don rolled over onto his side. "No, man… I don't mean sleep with someone. I mean like sleep with someone. Like literally, same bed snoring and stuff. You know, like a kid with a teddy bear, but it's you and another person."

Jonathan glanced at his demon. Sock was more like an irritating cat than a teddy bear. Hoping to end the conversation, Jonathan answered, "Nope. Not really."

"You should, man. It's nice," Don said. "I was spooning with this one chick..." He continued to ramble, and Jonathan was able to tune him out. He finished his reading and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When Jonathan returned, Don said, "Not that I'm offering, dude."

Sock lay on his side at the foot of the bed, acting as the big spoon to Kate's little spoon. He repeatedly told himself that this was no big deal, an experiment. Don had made snoozing with a casual acquaintance sound pleasant. Kate's head rested on one of Sock's lanky arms, while his other arm draped over her side. She had insisted on dressing as much for sleep as she possibly could. She stripped down to her undershirt and opaque leggings. Sock did his best to appease Kate, but he was hesitant about appearing scantily clad in front of Jonathan. He ended up wearing his blue t-shirt and the purple skirt over his tighty-whiteys. At first, as they spooned, all Sock could feel was the warmth of another body. But gradually, he could feel the texture of Kate's thin t-shirt and slinky leggings. Then he realized he could feel the softness of the bed and the fuzzy fleece blanket. He closed his eyes and squeezed Amelia Kate closer, enjoying the warmth and eagerly waiting for Jonathan to join them in the bed.

Kate was jolted out of her snuggly slumber by Sock stiffening her back and squealing, "Cold feet!"

Jonathan smiled as he tucked his knees and went to sleep.

Sock awoke one night to see that he was alone at the foot of Jonathan's bed. Yet he was still connected to Amelia, the softness of the sheets and the ability to smell Jonathan's sweaty feet were proof of that. Where has she gone? Sock wondered, until he noticed Jonathan's feet were not alone. A daintier pair of feet and legs were tangled up with Jonathan's rough and hairy legs, and Sock's demon-tail was tightly coiled around one of the ankles. Sock slowly rose out of bed, phasing through the sheets. Amelia Kate was resting her head on Jonathan's chest and her hand was just below his belly-button. Jonathan was smiling in his sleep. Sock clenched his fists and unwound his red tail from Kate's pale ankle. Gravity took effect on all Earthly things; the blankets collapsed and Jonathan's hands fell against the mattress. Gravity did not affect Kate, she remained floating, as she was before, blissfully asleep. Sock floated above them; these two people he trusted, relied upon to stave off loneliness and despair, two souls each of which seemed Heaven-bound. Suddenly, a different image was before his eyes – an old image, that of his sleeping parents.

Faster than a thought, his knife was out. A quick slit to the throat to prevent screaming, followed by deep puncture wounds to watch the blood burble, pool, flow, and soak into the fabric. Mother first; then straddle the father, using knees to pin his arms.

"Sock? What are you doing?" Jonathan asked groggily.

Sock's noisy exhales while stabbing had been enough to wake the college boy from his sleep. "Quit stabbing me!" Jonathan said, knocking Sock to the side. The image vanished from Sock's vision. He landed in the shrinking pool of Amelia Kate's blood. Jonathan, clearly unharmed, rolled over to face the wall and curled his knees to his chest.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Amelia Kate sputtered once the gash across her throat had healed.

Sock began to answer, "My parents -"

Jonathan interrupted, "Stop talking to yourself!"

Sock hissed, "Kate, you used me!"

"You're just mad you didn't think of it first," Kate replied.

The next morning, Sock found a warding symbol drawn in permanent marker on all four bedposts.

"Good morning!" said a youthful voice the moment Jonathan opened his eyes. It wasn't Sock's voice. Who had Don allowed to sleep over now?

"Uh... hello," Jonathan responded as he rubbed his eyes. "Who are you? Is Don here?"

The girl sitting on the lofted bed answered, "I'm Crystal. Donnie's out getting us coffee." She gingerly climbed down the ladder as she spoke. "So exciting! My old school would never let students have coffee."

"What school was that?"

"Our Lady of Can't Pronounce The Place. You know, the super strict Catholic boarding school."

Crystal volunteered more information without question. "I mean, like super harsh. They were telling me that I shouldn't wear my jewelry because it was occult. But, like, what if I'm a Wicken? America is about religious freedom."

"It's a private school..." Jonathan started to argue.

"That's why I had to run away. Run away from there and my stupid parents that forced me to go there. And they aren't even my real parents. I'm adopted. And they're forcing this Catholic junk on me even though I'm Jewish."

"I thought you were Wiccan?" Jonathan responded, then immediately regretted it.

"I'm pretty sure my birth parents were Jewish. I mean, look at this nose. Anyway, they sent me to detention for wearing my 'occult jewelry' and that's when I escaped."

It was too early in the morning for Jonathan to parse out how many red flags this was raising. When Donovan returned with two coffees, it was an odd relief.

"Sorry it took so long, Cris," Don said.

"It's fine, I've been chatting with Jonathan."

"Pretty cool, isn't he?"

"Oh, I could tell he was cool as soon as I saw he was into black magic."

"Black magic?" Donovan asked.

"Yeah. The demon statue, the summoning circles on the bed posts. Very cool."

Jonathan did not feel like lengthening this interaction by correcting her. He gave his roommate a look to indicate he would enjoy some goddamm solitude.

"Hey, Babe," Donovan said. "Why don't you throw on that plaid skirt and I'll show you where the Hillel is."

"Oooh, what's that?" Crystal asked as she scooped her skirt off the floor.

"Or maybe just visit the gallery hall in the Visual Arts building," Don said, starting to drink his own coffee before it got cold.

Jonathan let out one very long sigh after they left.

Jonathan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose."Sock," he called out, "Demons make deals, right?"  
"I am not a demon. I am a spirit with demonic tendencies. Remember what we learned in therapy: we are not defined by our impulses."  
Jonathan snapped back, "If you're not a demon, then why do Lil's warding symbols work on you?"  
"Fair point," Sock conceded. "I suppose we could make a deal. What do you have in mind?"  
Jonathan quietly asked, "What do I have to do so you'll get rid of my roommate?"

"Seriously?" Sock squeaked, his mind already reeling.

"Okay wrong choice of words. Make Donovan not want to live here anymore. He is still living, just not here. He moves out of this dorm and stays out of this dorm."

Sock sunk as Jonathan's demand became more detailed and less deadly. "Why don't you just wait until you're a sophomore and request new housing?"

"I can't do a second semester with that douche."

"Why don't you report that he has kidnapped a 16 year old girl?"

"Why are you passing up the opportunity to make a deal?"

"You won't hold up your side of the bargain."

"Try me. What must I do?"  
"Kill yourself," Sock replied automatically.  
Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes. "There must be something you want besides my death."

Sock fidgeted and avoided Jonathan's piercing gaze. "Remove the symbols," he mumbled.

"Say again?"

"The symbols on the bed posts, remove them - and never put new ones up," Sock said.

"Okay... after Donovan has moved out."

"It's a deal. Shake on it!" Sock thrust out his hand.  
"What's the point? My hand will just go through yours."  
"It's not a deal if we don't shake," Sock insisted. "If you really want to make this deal, you'll feel my hand."  
Jonathan begrudgingly shook Sock's hand. The hairs on his knuckles were singed and the deal was complete.

Sock tilted his head at the familiar looking boom-box. Beside it there was a Beach Boys CD, a Disco Delight CD, and what appeared to be a homemade mix. He looked over the handwritten list of songs on the generic CD case. "Macarena, Blue Daba Dee, Cotton-Eye Joe?" He turned to the grinning ghost. "Kate, what is this?"

"It's part of my plan for getting rid of Jonathan's roommate."

Sock read more, "Ice Ice Baby, Mambo Number Five, Hey Mickey, Mmm Bop, Five Hundred Miles..."

Kate said, "What do you think?"

Sock wrinkled his nose. "Where'd you get such a CD?"

"It's mine. A mix CD. My parents have a trunk of my stuff they couldn't throw away. I realized this was perfect." She floated around the room, looking for an outlet. "We'll drive him out with non-stop, stick in your head music."

"Is the theme of this CD 'Most Annoying Songs Ever Recorded'?" Sock asked.

Kate became a bit defensive. "Believe it or not, I like those songs. I think they are fun and I won't apologize for it. The fact that they can bug the piss out of someone else while I'm dancing, that just makes them all the better."

Sock's eyes widened. "Kate, this is a side of you I've never seen before."

The grin returned to Kate's face. "You like it?"

"Hell, yes."

Jonathan returned to his dorm room and found the place in utter disarray. He could barely hear the singing of the Spice Girls over Sock's impish laughter. Don was frantically searching for something.

"Jon! It's not funny any more! Where is the music coming from? For god's sake, man! Make it stop!"

"This place is a mess!" Jonathan said loudly. "What is wrong with you?"

"I was trying to find the music player, but I can't. I already asked the neighbors, and they swear it isn't them. I've looked everywhere, the vents..."

"What are you talking about?"

Don stopped, his eyes wide. "Don't tell me you can't hear it!"

For a moment, Jonathan considered lying and letting his roommate believe the music was in his head. He thought better of it. "I hear it," Jonathan said, "It just doesn't bother me."

Jonathan calmly began to tidy up his side of the room.

"Doesn't bother you?" Don hollered in disbelief. "Aren't you a music major? Can't you tell trash when you hear it?"

Jonathan shrugged. There was a blessed moment of silence, then a song by the Backstreet Boys started to play.

Don groaned, then asked, "Will you help me look for the music player?"

"If it will keep you from messing with my stuff on my side of the room."

Sock swooped in and hovered over Jonathan while he peeked under the bed.

"You'll never find it," Sock said. "Amelia Kate is hiding the compact boom box under her skirt."

Jonathan whispered, "How long have you been doing this?"

"About three hours," Sock answered. "Tell him there's nothing under the bed so we can plug the boom box back into the wall."

"Could you play something else? I can only handle so much of the 90's manufactured pop."

Don shouted over the music, "Are you talking to yourself again?"

"I was just saying I couldn't find anything under the bed." Jonathan took a seat at his desk. He put on his headphones.

Don snatched them away. "Oh, no you don't!"

"Give those back!"

Don tossed the headphones up onto his lofted bed. "If I've gotta suffer this noise pollution, so do you."

Jonathan retorted, "Well, it's better than the air pollution I usually deal with in this room."

There was another, longer moment of silence.

"Is it over?" Don wondered aloud.

"Probably just changing to a new CD," said Jonathan.

"I don't know how much of this I can take," Don sighed.

Sock called out, "Hey, Jonathan! Kate wants to know your feelings on Disco!"

"I can handle Disco," Jonathan said.

"Why would you say that?" Don screeched.

"You may be able to handle the music," said Sock with a grin. "But, I doubt you can handle my awesome dance moves!"

The song Disco Inferno came blaring through the unseen music player.

"Augh! I don't think getting high could even improve this situation," Don moaned. He flopped onto Jonathan's bed and tried to cover his ears with a pillow.

"Use your own bed!" Jonathan shouted over the music.

"That takes effort. I don't feel like climbing the ladder," Don moped.

"Well, what you should be doing is helping me clean up this mess you made," said Jonathan.

"What's so funny?" Don asked.

"Nothing," Jonathan said, turning his back on Sock dancing like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. "Will you please return my headphones?"

Don grumbled, "Fine. Wear 'em. See if I care." He reached up and retrieved the purple headphones from his lump of bed sheets. He flung them at Jonathan, then checked the tangle of cotton and fleece for the hidden music player once more. "I'm going to the dining hall," Don announced.

"But the mess!" Jonathan said.

"You like this music. Just whistle while you work!" Don said, then slammed the door.

"He won't last long..." Sock beamed.

Kate let her head phase through the door, making sure Don was truly gone before turning off the offending music.

Jonathan chuckled, "Dude, which decade did you die in?"

"Huh? I died like last year. You're my first haunting," Sock said.

"I don't buy it," said Kate. "Dance moves that slick require an explanation."

Sock spread his hands. "Ballroom dancing with Community Ed. My parents put me in tons of after school activities; and honors everything. Keeping my brain and body as busy as possible."

Jonathan started picking up the text books that were strewn over the floor. "I'm guessing they hoped you would take up a less violent hobby?"

"My penchant for stabbing animals did not go unnoticed," Sock admitted. "They really started the heavy scheduling after Jojo died."

"Oh, Sock… I'm so sorry," said Kate.

"Nah! Don't be. I died at age 16 with the education of a college freshman."

"So, you've always felt older than you looked," Jonathan concluded.

Sock turned to his ghost friend. "What about you, Kate? You're one to question my age. We had the Beach Boys going and you were doing all sorts of moves. Callin' out the names even. Watootsie, mashed potatoes, hand jive..."

"So, Kate can dance… wish I could have seen that," Jonathan said.

Sock said, "Kate dances all the time. And plays those 60s protest songs on your guitar."

"Good to hear the warding symbol doesn't affect her."

Sock shook his head. "Are you missing my point deliberately? I'm trying to figure out how old Kate is."

Kate responded, "I was in the chorus for both Grease and Hairspray."

"Let's see… likes musical theater, plays hippie music, uses the library..."

"And has recipes for amazing sandwiches," Jonathan added. "You're right… I didn't think of it before now, but if Kate were alive now, she could be in her like, eighties or something."

Sock recoiled, "Weeeird!"

Kate put her hands on her hips. "Okay, now that's just bad math. Even if I was some future Susie Q. homemaker who suddenly became a hippie, It's 2008. I'd be like 63, tops. And you're forgetting my one-hit-wonders CD."

Sock, "Hmmm. You got a point. So, how old are you?"

Kate folded her arms. "How old can I get before it isn't weeeeeird?" Kate didn't give him time to answer.

She asked, "What does age matter when I will always look under twenty-one? You've got crush on Jonathan now; will you still be hankering after him when he's thirty-five? Forty?"

Sock blushed and glanced at Jonathan. Damn that poker face.

Kate continued, "What about when he's 82, will he find romance with a demon-boy that looks 16 creepy?"

"Jonathan won't live that long," was all Sock could think to reply.

"He's moving out..." Sock sang as he appeared by Jonathan's elbow. Jonathan nodded curtly and continued to take notes.

"C'mon and see!" Sock said.

Jonathan leaned over his tiny auditorium desk and jutted his chin towards a clock on the wall.

"He might be done by the time this class is over!" Sock's groaned. "Ugh! Why is a class on geology a required course anyway? It's about rocks. Who cares?"

Don was carefully taking down his Pink Floyd poster when Jonathan entered the room. The Beach boys crooned from an invisible music player. A black trunk and a empty copy-paper box were laden with Donovan's collected possessions. A large trash bin from the common room was trying to house the junk food stash. The wall had visible cheese dust residue.

"Are you moving out?" Jonathan feigned surprize.

"Dude! Yeah, so... funny story. I was having breakfast with some friends and we got to talking about our crazy roommates - no offense, bro."

"Continue..." said Jonathan.

"And one of my friends says that his roomie got this sudden crazy idea to become a professional snowboarder. Just dropped out of college completely, not even gonna finish the semester." Don scooted down the ladder and pulled the cardboard box off his bed. "Long story short, I'm gonna be his new roommate - but keep it on the down low. I don't want to fill out a bunch of paperwork and get a new mailbox key and whatnot just to be moving two floors down and like ten doors to the left. Get the door for me?"

Jonathan opened the door. Don shuffled out into the hall with his very full box under one arm and a duffle bag in the other.

"Thanks," Don said. "I'll be back for the rest soon. Let me know if you ever find where that music is coming from."

Jonathan gave a little wave as he closed the door.

Sock beamed, "The professional snowboarding drop-out was all me. Demons have the ability to make bad ideas seem like good ideas."

"Why doesn't that ever work on me?" Jonathan smirked.

"You left class fifteen minutes early, did you not?"

Jonathan frowned. "I missed an important announcement, didn't I? I did. Dammit, Sock!"

"So, when ya gonna get rid of those symbols? A deal's a deal."

Jonathan gave a huff before answering, "When Donovan is officially moved out; all his stuff gone and that disgusting wall is cleaned."

"Donovan Stephano is not going to clean that wall," Sock whined.

"Then I won't be cleaning my bedposts," Jonathan replied.

Amelia Kate lay on the lofted bed phasing her hand back and forth through the ceiling tiles. It had become late in the evening by the time she had removed the last visible traces of junk food grime from every surface of Donovan's former domain.

"Kate?" Sock appeared floating by her side.

"Don't touch me!" the ghost said quickly. "I don't even want to imagine the grossness that remains on this bed, let alone feel it."

Sock gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, coiling his tail away. "Kate?" Sock whispered so as not to wake Jonathan.  
"What's up?" Kate asked.  
"Would you – I mean, I'd like to… I'd like to try…" Sock moved his fist in a jerky motion.  
Kate raised an eyebrow at Sock's gesture.  
Sock, realizing what the motion could be mistaken for, blurted, "Stabbing!" He clarified, "I'd like to try stabbing you again." He added, "If you don't mind."  
"I don't mind," Kate replied honestly. "Right here, right now?"  
"No. No. Whatever's best for you."  
Kate nodded her head a few times. "Tomorrow morning then, while Jonathan's out."

Sock was waiting for Kate for what seemed like hours. He kept taking out his knife and returning it to his pocket. It seemed uncouth to have it out and ready when she arrived. When Kate faded into view, she looked as she did the day they met. At least, she was dressed that way. Her face had a somber, all business look.  
"Okay," she said, "How do you want to do this?"  
"Um… your back to me," Sock answered.  
Kate turned obediently. Sock dared to ask for more, "Could you lift up your shirt?" Kate looked at him over her shoulder. "I want to see … blade pierce skin … blood trickling… if you don't mind."  
Kate hesitated. "No comments on how it looks," she said.  
She pulled her sweatshirt up over her head in increments, leaving her arms in the sleeves. Her back was a mottled mess of pink and white, burned flesh that would not heal. Her bra-strap was wide, green, and lacy. Sock found himself thinking the colors looked pretty together. He shook his head to refocus. He pulled the knife from his pocket.  
Now, where to stab? he thought to himself. He raised the knife, but found himself hesitating. What was it that stayed his hand? In the past, it had seemed like his knife had a mind of its own. He'd even given it a name, Stabitha. In the past he had to control his urges, but now that he had a willing victim – he faltered. Was that it? That she was willing? No. Well, maybe. Or maybe it was because he wasn't actually ending a life. What did he have an urge to do? Stab? Kill? Witness death? He had been standing with the knife raised and pondering for too long.  
"Sock? What's the matter?" Kate asked. She turned around to face him.  
"Why are you letting me do this?" Sock blurted. His voice sounded accusing.  
Kate shifted her weight. "Because you asked nicely, and we're friends."  
He lowered his arm. "There's more to it than that," Sock insisted.  
Kate looked down at her feet. Her knees bounced slightly. "I thought maybe if I tried something you wanted to do, you'd be willing to try something I wanted to do."  
"You mean kissing," Sock said quietly.  
Kate glanced up, but quickly returned her gaze to her shoes. She turned around and straightened her shoulders. "Just stab me already."  
Sock shook himself and tried to focus, enjoy the moment. But Amelia Kate had put the thought of kissing in his head. He envisioned spinning her around, grabbing a fist-full of her thick hair and giving her one very aggressive kiss whilst burying the knife into her stomach. Would she start to heal before the black blood burbled out her mouth?  
Then Sock realized he was hard, not in his sudden fantasy, but in reality – with the victim of his vision patiently waiting. Embarrassed and unsettled by the thoughts swirling in his mind, Sock croaked, "Rain check," and disappeared.

When Sock returned, Jonathan was there and Kate was not. He was unloading a plastic shopping bag full of items that would hopefully remove permanent marker from dormitory furniture.

"Did you miss me?" Sock cooed as he swam in the air above Jonathan's head.  
"Nope," Jonathan replied. He removed a pair of rubber gloves from the bag. Then he pulled out a bundle of what looked like white lace. "Is Kate here?"

"Why do you ask?" said Sock.

"I just got her this," Jonathan said. He unrolled the bundle. It was a white, hooded cloak made out of spider-web lace. He hung it on the post of the lofted bed.

"Since when did you start buying fancy gifts for Kate?"

Jonathan seemed more focused on reading the instructions on the spray bottle than what Sock's was asking.

"It isn't a fancy gift," he answered. "It came out of the Halloween clearance bin for like, a dollar."

"What's it for?"

"Now that Donovan is gone, I thought she'd like a way to be, you know, less invisible. I thought maybe she could wear it. She can do that kind of thing, right?" The first post was now wiped clean and he moved onto the next.

"Where's my gift then?" Sock demanded.

Jonathan looked up from his scrubbing. "I'm not getting rid of these symbols for fun. A deal is a deal."

Sock sighed. "Fine. Then I'm gonna play in your swivel chair and make annoying squeaks the whole time."

Jonathan paused in his cleaning. "We never agreed how soon after Don's departure these had to be removed."

"I gotcha. No squeaking, just swaying."

Sock swiveled side to side in Jonathan's desk chair. As he did so, he played a moment over and over in his mind. His eyes were closed and he could see Kate anxiously waiting for the stabbing that didn't come. He cringed as he recalled it. However, the memory unexpectedly turned to fantasy.  
"It doesn't have to be this way," Kate murmured. She turned to face him, tossing the paint-splattered sweatshirt aside. She grabbed Sock's wrist and guided the knife across her clavicle. The blood trickled in a delightful fashion and started pooling in her cleavage. She gave a wicked grin. "I seem to have a nasty cut. Perhaps you could kiss it and make it better?"  
Sock smiled wide enough to show all his pointy demon teeth. "Oh, Amelia, I'll give you a cut that needs a kiss alright." Then he jammed his knife straight into her chest, gave it a quick twist, and yanked it out again. Kate fell forward, turning her face towards his expectantly. He kissed her, as promised, but it felt better than expected. He reveled in the double thrill that was another person's tongue in his mouth and another person's blood seeping into his clothes.  
"What the hell are you doing?" Jonathan's voice broke Sock from his day-dream.  
"Nothing," Sock squeaked.  
"You are sitting at my desk pitching a tent. That's not nothing," Jonathan replied.  
Sock sighed. "Okay, fine. Have you ever been thinking about something and then it turns into a day-dream? But, it's not like a normal day-dream… It's like some bizarre thing you've never really fantasized about before."  
Jonathan answered, "Uh, maybe. I don't know. Like what?"  
Sock was about to tell Jonathan the details, when he was struck by what Jonathan's follow-up question might be. If a make-out session with a blood-soaked Kate was bizarre day-dream, what did Sock normally fantasize about? The skirt-wearing demon was not ready to tell Jonathan about that.

"Like what?" Sock repeated. He noticed that the last of the four bed posts was almost clean. Swiftly, he said, "Like killing yourself."  
"Should have guessed," Jonathan mumbled.


End file.
